


all things unspoken

by thepointsdonotmatter



Category: Men's Basketball RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointsdonotmatter/pseuds/thepointsdonotmatter
Summary: In which Alfonzo McKinnie learns more about his teammates.





	all things unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> So I ran into writer's block with my other Steph/Klay story...and proceeded to write this. Yes, I only do depressing, angsty shit.

 

 

Alfonzo still can’t believe it’s real. He stops and stares at himself in the mirror sometimes. He’s not completely settled in yet, even now. His nerves feel on fire every day in practice. 

Steph had been one of the first ones to greet him, back at the beginning of training camp. Alfonzo can’t believe how nice the man is in the flesh, the way he’d welcomed Alfonzo onto the team as if they’d known each other since they were kids. He remembers being too nervous to say anything to him. To any of them, really. Alfonzo’s a quiet guy to begin with, but so far he's kept his head down. 

He’s the last one in the gym tonight, getting his shots up, when he notices a hole in his shoe. He knows they keep spares around here, though he isn’t sure exactly where. There’s been construction recently in the building, so he gets turned around sometimes. 

Alfonzo goes back to the locker room and decides to check the storage closet there first. He’s rummaging through boxes when the door opens. He freezes, then ducks behind one of the shelves. 

It's only Steph and Klay, but they don't see him. They’re not dressed in workout clothes. Alfonzo releases a breath, is about to step out. 

Klay grabs Steph and slams him against the wall. 

Alfonzo shrinks back. Were they fighting? Everything seemed fine at practice earlier today. Klay had even brought Steph lunch in a takeout bag and sat in one of the fold-up chairs, watching the other man launch threes. 

Maybe he should intervene. He's built about the same as Klay, so maybe he could-- 

"Been a while," Klay says, voice low. 

"I know," Steph answers, and he sounds a little – pained? He reaches up, cups Klay's jaw, and pulls him down for a kiss. 

Alfonzo sees it happen before he really realizes what's happening. And then he's clapping a hand over his mouth. Shit, shit, shit. What did he get himself into? There’s some shellshock, too – he never would have guessed, what with Steph being such a family man and Klay with his revolving door of models. 

They're still kissing, hard, needy. Klay pulls away, lips swollen, and starts kissing Steph's neck instead. Steph groans, eyes closed, works Klay’s zipper open and slips a hand inside his jeans. Klay is silent, but he's breathing hard, arms wrapped around Steph like he never wants to let go. 

It's clear this isn't some throwaway thing. There's familiarity here, something deep, historic. Alfonzo doesn't want to know – doesn't need to. It's not his place. But before his brain can come up with what to do, his foot accidentally nudges an empty bucket next to him and it rattles, loud. 

Fuck. 

Steph and Klay stiffen immediately. Klay's arms tighten around Steph, like he's trying to protect him, and both men look over to where Alfonzo is. 

Steph sees him first and his eyes widen. He pushes Klay away. 

Alfonzo stumbles out, and it still feels like his brain is in quicksand because all he can think to say is, "Uhh..." 

Steph looks panicked, scared even. Klay's expression is completely blank, but everything about his posture points to him being really fucking uncomfortable. 

"We were just –" Steph begins, unsteady. 

"It's fine," Alfonzo says, quickly. "Really. None of my business. I didn't mean to – I was just looking for some shoes." 

It's quiet. This would be hilarious under different circumstances. 

"If you could just...keep this to yourself," Steph says, finally. He's not making eye contact. “Please.” 

"Yeah. 'Course." 

Steph swallows, nods. 

"We were just messing around," Klay insists. "Didn’t mean anything." 

"Yeah," Alfonzo says. 

"We'll just –" Steph motions toward the door, and they leave. Alfonzo waits until the sound of their footsteps is gone before he sags back against the shelf. 

 

\-- 

 

They don’t talk about it. Alfonzo’s no snitch. But still, he notices Steph and Klay distancing themselves from each other. Scrimmaging less in practice. Quick, fleeting pats on each other’s backs during games. They’re still brilliant together – that doesn’t change. 

A few headlines crop up in the news about Klay going to dinner with an actress. 

Steph’s kids come to a home game and they’re climbing all over him, shrieking. Their mother laughs, snapping pictures. 

 

\-- 

 

Eventually, after watching Steph and Klay stagger their routines so that they don’t shower and change at the same time, Alfonzo decides he’s had enough. He feels personally responsible, even though he knows it’s not true, they’re all fucking adults here. 

They’re on a bus during one of their road trips and Dray is sitting next to Klay in the back, showing him some video on his phone. 

“Dray, switch seats with me,” Alfonzo says. 

“What? Why?” Dray asks, still laughing at the video. Klay tenses up, gaze darting over to him. 

“C’mon,” Alfonzo says. His heart is pounding but he ignores it, tries to keep his expression neutral. 

Dray waves a hand, still focused on his phone. “Whatever.” 

Klay is looking out the window, hands fidgeting. Alfonzo sits down, trying (but failing) to avoid Dray slapping the back of his head. He puts on his headphones and pulls up a random game on his phone. It’s already dark outside; the engine hums beneath them on uneven road. After a while, Klay’s guard relaxes and he falls asleep. 

Alfonzo stands up and pretends he needs to stretch his legs. He walks to the front of the bus. Steph is on FaceTime. “I miss you too,” he’s saying. 

After he hangs up, Alfonzo taps his arm. “Hey, let’s switch seats,” he says, quietly. 

Steph is a little puzzled, but he stands up, slipping his phone into his pocket. When he sees Klay, he exhales slowly. Nearly all of the team is also asleep or wearing headphones, which is maybe why Steph looks at him, straight on, and says, “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking of me.” 

“I’m thinking,” Alfonzo says, “that Klay’s snoring and it’s driving me crazy.” 

Steph starts to laugh, but stops himself. “I shouldn’t.” He looks away, mouth tightening. He rubs his wedding ring. “I can’t.” 

Alfonzo walks back to his seat, deflated. Klay stirs next to him and wakes. He considers telling him what he tried to do, but Klay seems to have figured out the gist of it. 

“It’s okay,” he tells Alfonzo. He doesn’t sound surprised. 

Klay turns his attention to the window again. Outside, the city lights burn against the horizon. 

 

\-- 

 

The last game of the road trip starts out tense. The other team’s big, Murphy, goes up hard against Steph, who lands awkwardly. He’s fine, just shaken up, but Alfonzo sees Klay shaking his head, jawing a little with Murphy while Steph shoots his free throws. 

Alfonzo doesn’t think much about the incident, if you could even call it that. In the second quarter Klay gets scorching hot, keeps silencing the crowd. The energy carries into and past halftime. They’re clipping along, confident. Klay is fouled by Murphy on a three pointer and they’re all up, jumping, cheering. Murphy’s face is red; he’s yelling at the ref. 

Klay bends down to re-tie his shoes, and when he straightens up it happens – Murphy slams an elbow into his face. Klay’s head ricochets back and he goes down, head hitting the ground hard. There’s blood streaming out of his nose, and for a second Alfonzo can’t tell if he’s conscious or not. 

The arena explodes with commotion. Alfonzo’s running out onto the court with everyone else on the bench. Even though Murphy is enormous, and even though Boogie, Dray, and KD are already screaming at him, he sees Steph making a beeline toward Murphy, too. Steph looks unhinged. Angry couldn’t even begin to describe it. The mass of bodies on the court grows and pulses, one huge tangle of noise. 

He’s not sure exactly what’s going down, but he makes his way over to Klay. They hover above the medics, anxiously waiting. Klay is holding a gauze pad to his nose, but he seems alert enough. They slowly bring him up to a sitting position, and then he and Jonas help him walk off the court, the crowd buzzing around them. Alfonzo looks around briefly. Murphy is nowhere to be seen – must have been kicked out already – but the atmosphere is still tense. 

Steph is standing where Klay fell, ball boys scrubbing the floor around him. Alfonzo makes eye contact with him and nods, but he’s not sure if Steph registers it. 

“I’m fine,” Klay mumbles. “I just need to rest for a few minutes.” 

The gauze is nearly soaked through with blood. When they enter the locker room, though, Klay suddenly stops. “I – I think I'm gonna be sick.” 

Jonas grabs the nearest trash can and they both support Klay as he pitches forward. The medics swarm around him again, and there’s nothing he or Jonas can do, so they head back out. Jonas mutters something in Swedish, shaking his head. 

The game goes on. Alfonzo looks up at the box score; they’re down seven, so the starters are still playing. 

Thirty seconds before the end of the third quarter, Quinn subs in for Steph and Alfonzo gets tapped as well. He pulls off his jacket and steps on the traction pad. Steph walks up to him immediately, pale. “How is he?” 

“I’m not sure,” Alfonzo says. “He was throwing up.” 

Steph looks drained, but he puts a hand on Alfonzo’s shoulder. “Keep playing hard, yeah?” 

Alfonzo does: he gets a big dunk to close out the quarter, the rim vibrating under his grip. It’s enough for him to keep pushing forward. 

Afterward, he goes to change jerseys. He passes by a side room and sees Klay sitting on a makeshift exam table. Steph pacing in front of him, head bowed. There’s still a good couple feet between them. Deliberate, awkward. 

“I’m fine,” Klay is saying, voice thin. 

There’s maybe a minute and a half left until the start of the fourth. Alfonzo steps into the doorway. “I’ll make sure no one comes in,” he says. “There’s not long, but...” 

Klay looks at him. His face is cleaned up, nose bandaged, though the bruises will be forming soon. He mouths a “thank you,” and smiles, but it’s a sad smile. 

Alfonzo wonders how many moments like this they’ve had to steal for themselves. 

The last thing he sees before he closes the door is Klay pulling Steph in for an embrace; Steph, shoulders finally crumpling, face pressed against his neck. 

 

\-- 

 

Steph starts the fourth, dribbling the ball calmly. Klay’s done for the night, but he’s on the bench. Alfonzo watches him watch Steph. 

Every interview Alfonzo remembers hearing as a kid, where the players talked about the daily grind and how it overtook them at times, made them want to break away – it's all true. He’s never been this exhausted in his life. 

He also knows that one great play, one win, one smile – it pays for everything three times over. For a moment, the outside world vanishes, easily. 

They’re living in that moment, ceaselessly.

 

 


End file.
